Where Love was drained
by vivi314
Summary: A peculiar view of Yuriy and Boris' relationship in the classic Abbey theme. Has been originally done for a creative writing project in English. YuBo, may be slight AU.


**Pairing**: YuriyxBoris/TalaxBryan

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** Yuriy and Boris own my soul, so don't expect me to own them.

**A/N and Warnings:** -Written in a non vernacular language, so expect a few errors in expression.

-Strange structure, since it was illustrated by paintings and done for a creative writing project about love for English class.

-Some schmexing towards the end.

THE PLACE

Abbey, used as a camp of death, of nothingness, of isolation.

No one knows why they're here.

No one cannot submit to the menacing building, draining will, hope

And most of all, love.

DAWN, THE PALE HEART

Dawn was rising, pale, anticipating the sun's fiery, shiny feast.

Fiery feast to be seen, yet not to be felt by this young, Russian boy.

He knew entirely too many winters to enjoy this promise of a new insipid day.

Dawn seemed ordinary for another, even younger boy, trapped in a dark cell that held no passage for this lying hope called light.

MIDDAY, THE LINE

Both boys met at midday.

At least, one met the other.

Young Boris Kuznetsov had no fear of the shadows lurking in these dark corridors he used to go through. He didn't dread his heavy chains either, as they grew part of him along with the daily darkness.

He didn't care. Fear was for lousy, oversensitive children. No emotional brat was allowed in this area.

In this room, no child was crying, and the one Boris saw was no exception.

Life and death were the same thing in this place. This abbey showed enough wonders and horrors to reduce life to oblivion.

Barely breathing, tangled in a mass of strange devices (that he would compare to those used to keep serial killers from escaping), Boris' sight was one of the abbey's half-living breeds.

Behind glassy walls laid an outer shell of a boy of about his age.

In a childlike curiosity, Boris wondered if the boy would move in his transparent cell.

The ghostly marks of his breath against the glassy wall drew a contrast with the heat that came back to his face.

After seeing this boy, he felt oddly warm for the first time in years.

EVENING, TAINTED WARMTH

Alone, pressed against a wall, Yuriy Ivanov was still registering the fact that he got out. Red hair against red bricks, blue eyes for the snow's pale blue reflection, a boy for a lifeless place.

''I escaped, I fucking escaped'', he repeated to himself constantly.

Now he needed to take his companion out, so he could enjoy at least a few seconds of freedom without staying indifferent to the exterior world.

I would be the easy part, Yuriy thought. After all, he did pass through this unbreakable transparent cell. He did have all these high-tech devices all around him. So compared to this, freeing Boris would be a piece of cake.

He went again to face his prison.

''Hey Boris.''

A prison with an open door traps the heart better than everything.

Boris had a cell with very large spaces between the bars and a lock which would capitulate to the slightest hit.

He wasn't moving.

''Come on, you idiot, wake up!'', Yuriy whispered.

He had felt the urge to come back for a plainly practical reason: he knew that in his human nature, a shared pain of getting caught would be easier to handle.

Boris stirred in his sleep, and finally opened his eyes, making a pitiful attempt as a glare.

Before being able to protest, he was dragged out of his suddenly opened cell. Anger and hatred didn't match with a way too forceful hand. Or did they?

He expressed his opinion of this ''rescue'' outside, by yanking Yuriy against a wall.

He wanted to go back, to go back…

His radiant anger made him unaware of his lack of suitable clothes for a cold evening.

At least, he felt something. No feelings would have signaled his death.

Yuriy stared at him, blue flames overpowering the tiny sparks in Boris' eyes.

''So, I guarantee you a few minutes of freedom and this is your way to thank me? What did these guys turn you into?

-You're the one with a problem, Yuriy! What would make you want to escape from here if it's to go back in after?

-It's cold in there.

-It's colder outside, dumbass.

There was no use. Neither of them had a real reason to fight. They stopped and came back in the most discreet way as possible.

But Yuriy knew that the anger in Boris was much better than him not caring at all.

Hatred could be a start for something.

NIGHT, MOST TACTILE

It was wrong. Or was it? He didn't know anymore.

The outer walls of the abbey had been demolished long ago, but he was still trapped.

He spread his legs wider, to see if the pleasure would be the key. Yuriy told him that there was a way out, somehow, somewhere.

Panting heavily, he leaned back, wondering if Yuriy could make it at his place. The redhead was searching, searching for the spot savoring the white hot skin underneath him. He knew that Boris' reckless abandon to his exploring hands and curious tongue was a sign of his sweet escape.

One moan meant one step closer out of his prison. Yuriy knew entirely too much about the road to take. He went through his neck, chest and stomach to find his treasured prize.

He had gone all this way to claim Boris, once for all.

His firm movements were too much for Boris, and he let go, crying his savior's name, falling back against the mattress in exhaustion.

They had given a lot for each other, and lust would be part of Yuriy's accomplishments with Boris.

Love is everything for the idealistic fool, and nothing to the biased cynic.

Love is a term used to define everything bonding us, everything considered as a deep care.

They'd hate to define their relationship with it. Giving each other trust, hope and lust didn't count for them.

And yet, even to the most innocent being, it was nothing but love.


End file.
